All the words Jeff had wanted to say right before pressing into Mack bubbled up again, words about needing more than just a fuck and feeling too much. But as he reached between them to coax pleasure from his lover’s body, quickening his pace, the edge so close, the words all melted away.
And there was just touch, just heat and skin and eyes.
God, but Mack’s eyes were so deep.
When it all became too much, he reared back and pressed his hand against Mack’s heart. The hazy edges of his image resolved themselves, and Jeff felt like he had never seen a person so clearly.
“Get there,” he rasped, needing to feel him, to share this.
“Jeff….”
Mack’s grip on Jeff’s hips tightened and his eyes went wide, mouth dropping open. Everything squeezed down as Mack erupted, hot come streaming between their chests.
Still gazing at Mack, Jeff pitched forward. And even when his hand left Mack’s chest, Mack’s image didn’t fade.
It stayed just as clear as Jeff screamed his name and came and came and came.
FOR the longest time, Mack felt like he was flying, like the whole world had dissolved down into sensation and skin and the kind of glow he’d never known. Jeff withdrew at some point, retreated from the bed, and then came right back to wash the sex from Mack’s body. After, he lay down beside Mack and took a hand in his.
When he could breathe again, Mack rolled to the side and touched Jeff’s face, tracing out the edges of where Jeff’s mask would have been, had he been wearing it. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the space between Jeff’s eyes.
“I like you even better without the mask,” he admitted.
Jeff flinched but didn’t pull away. He sounded uncomfortable when he replied, “Most don’t.”
“I do.” Mack placed more soft kisses all around Jeff’s face before leaning back and resting his head on the pillow, his fingertips lingering on Jeff’s cheek. “I want to know everything about you. About the man behind the mask.”
“He’s just a man.”
“But he’s more than that. He’s you.”
Jeff stared at him levelly for a minute, then lifted their joined hands toward Mack’s face. He traced the same shape around Mack’s eyes. When he spoke again, it was soft and low. “At least I get to take my mask off. You haven’t had a choice. No one could see past yours.”
“But they can now.”
At least Jeff could.
It felt like so much more than enough.
AS JEFF gazed at Mack, he had to reconsider so many of his previous notions. He’d always admired the Invisible Man because he did right without reward—because he declined the accolades he was due. Only now he knew the truth, and it was so much better and so much worse.
Mack deserved attention. He deserved the whole city’s praise.
He deserved love.
Jeff had only known the man for a few hours, but already he could see that. Already, he wanted to give Mack all of that and more.
He pulled their hands up to his mouth and kissed Mack’s knuckles, keeping his gaze focused on Mack’s. “No, they can’t. But they could.” He swallowed hard before asking, “Will you let me show you to them?”
TWO WEEKS later, Mack found himself at the museum again, only this time, instead of sneaking in through back exits, unseen, he stood on the very top step, in the bright light of the sun. He was wearing a suit. And a mask.
Spread out before him were most of the news people in town and not a few uncostumed superheroes covertly trying to blend in. The commissioner was at the podium, but Mack could hardly hear what he was saying.
Jeff was beside him. Jeff who had shown him what it was like to be part of the world—to be seen and touched. In the intervening weeks, he’d taken Mack to dinner and out to a club, to a ball game and to a roller skating rink. No matter where they’d gone, he’d never let go of Mack’s hand.
Not even now.
When it was time, Jeff squeezed his palm, and Mack looked up to see the commissioner had stepped aside and was holding out his arm in invitation. Hand in hand with Jeff, Mack walked forward, scanning the faces in the crowd, understanding full well that all the eyes in the place were on him.
On him.
Up at the podium, his throat went dry, and for a moment panic seized him. Then he looked at Jeff. Those blue eyes were the only ones that mattered. They were the first to have ever seen him—the only ones to see behind all of his masks.
Gazing back out over the crowd, Mack swallowed hard before opening his mouth.
“Good morning,” he said. For the first time ever, he introduced himself. “I’m the Invisible Man.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
After brief, unsatisfying careers in advertising, teaching, computers, and homemaking, JEANETTE GREY has returned to her two first loves: romance and writing. For her, there is no story without a love story, and there is no better way to show the connection between two (or more!) people than through physical touch and intimacy. Her favorite parts of a romance are the transcendent moment when a person discovers that he is loved and that terrifying moment right before it, when he isn’t sure.
When she isn’t writing, Jeanette enjoys making pottery, playing board games, and spending time with her husband and her pet frog. She lives, loves, and writes in North Carolina.
Visit her website at http://jeanettegrey.com/ or follow her on Twitter at http://twitter.com/jeanettelgrey.
Meant to Fly
ONE minute Daniel Atwater was living a dream, exhilarated beyond belief. A moment later he was more terrified than he’d ever been in his life—scared for his life.
He and his fellow co-workers had been pressed up against the thirty-first-floor windows of their office, watching the spectacular battle in the street below and the very sky around them. That Daniel was watching so avidly was amazing considering he was so afraid of heights he couldn’t stand on a chair to change a light bulb. He hated the fact he worked so high in the building.
However, a fight between superheroes and their villainous counterparts was not something one saw every day and was not to be missed for any reason whatsoever. This was Kansas City, after all, and not New York or Chicago where such sights were seemingly commonplace. What’s more, one of the combatants was none other than Paragon, Daniel’s favorite member of Super Heroes, Incorporated.
Just the costumed adventurer’s name was enough to set Daniel’s heart beating faster. Daniel had been fascinated with Paragon ever since he’d first appeared in the media two years before. He even had an extensive scrapbook filled with pictures and articles about the superhero. His friends liked to tease him about it—he was twenty-four, after all, and not twelve—but it was all in good fun. They’d all contributed to Daniel’s collection.
So it was a thrilling surprise for Daniel that he was actually witnessing firsthand the hero of his dreams in action. Best of all, the villain Paragon was battling mid-air was no one less than Tyrant, a nasty piece of work who by all accounts was worse than Ivan the Terrible, Charles Manson, and Darth Vader all rolled into one. With a side of George W. thrown in for good measure.
Ever since Daniel was a little boy he’d loved comic books and movies about superheroes. At three years old, he’d safety pinned a yellow towel around his neck for a cape and pretended he was Robin to Adam West’s Batman. He’d watched Christopher Reeve as Superman with rapture-filled eyes and believed “a man can fly.”
Then, in just the last few years, real-life superheroes had begun to appear all over the world. Daniel, like many others, was as caught up in their adventures as the British were with the royals.
There were now real heroes! The only thing that could have made him happier would have been if he himself had gained superhuman abilities. But he couldn’t even get promoted to team lead at work. He supposed it was the fate of other men to be given power rings by dying aliens.
The fight Daniel witnessed that day was the real thing as well. He couldn’t have been more excited. Th
is was no blue-screen special-effect trick. No CGI. Heart in his throat, he was watching two men defy gravity as they duked it out high above the city streets below.
The combatants were both big men. Paragon was a wall of muscle encased in a purple-and-white costume near evenly divided down the middle—the purple right half a giant letter “P” for Paragon. His adversary was barrel-chested, with a thick beard, and wore a deep-blue tunic and kilt with a full, flowing, hooded cloak. Watching the two very real men do the absolutely impossible made Daniel’s inner geek squeal in delight at the sight.
But then CGI turned into 3-D when the action abruptly came all too close as Paragon and Tyrant came hurtling through the window in a glittering shower of glass. To the accompaniment of screams, Daniel and his co-workers scattered like pigeons. Just like that, the super battle was taking place inside their office.
A blast of heat fired from Tyrant’s hands passed so close to Daniel he could feel it. And then Paragon was suddenly right there in front of him.
All Daniel could do was stare. It was as if time had just stopped; explosions and beams of fire had become a muted light show in the background.
Paragon; as real as life and looking every inch the superhero.
So big were the words that went through Daniel’s mind as he looked up, and then up, at the modern-day gladiator. The pictures in his scrapbook, the videos he’d seen on TV and YouTube, had done nothing to prepare Daniel for standing in the presence of an actual superhero.
Paragon stood at least a head taller than Daniel and had a body like the statue of some ancient god, Zeus or Hercules maybe. One of his pecs was as big as both Daniel’s hands spread out (or would have been had Daniel dared touch him) and just one of his arms was easily the size of one of Daniel’s thighs. His shoulders looked as wide as a small mountain, his marvelously muscled neck completing the image. Daniel couldn’t see much of Paragon’s face, of course, what with the mask, but what he could see took his breath away. The man had a mop of dark-blond hair, a strong jaw, full lips, and he looked down at Daniel with the most beautiful, intense blue eyes Daniel had ever seen. Then Paragon opened his mouth (revealing perfect white teeth of course) and cried, “Dammit! Get down! Do you want to get killed?”
It was not what Daniel had fantasized his crush would say when he’d imagined the meeting in his mind, especially lying in bed at night.
Paragon reached out with one of his large, masculine hands and gave him a push. Daniel flew back and fell hard on his ass, his teeth coming together with a loud click. Not a moment too soon. Another heat blast roared over Daniel’s head so close he could smell his singeing hair. Paragon had saved his life. The hero who filled his scrapbook really was Daniel’s hero.
“Thanks,” Daniel managed, but Paragon was already gone, flying—literally—across the devastated office and raining punches down onto Tyrant.
Daniel didn’t need a sign. It was finally time to get the hell out of Dodge.
He scrambled to his feet and dashed for the door. The only problem was that took him directly past the fight. He thought he was going to make it. He really did. But then at the last possible second Tyrant, his dark-blue cloak swirling around him, reached out and grabbed Daniel by the upper arm, and flung him across the room...
...and right out the broken window.
Thirty-one floors above the ground.
At first Daniel couldn’t believe, was unable to believe, what was happening. Then the reality of plunging from a skyscraper was enough to throw his brain into some weird other-place. Time slowed down again, and the mouth of the broken window seemed to dwindle at a ridiculously unhurried pace. His eyesight began to fade into gray spots and only one thought entered his mind.
I am going to die.
But then Daniel, with a bone-rattling jolt that knocked the air from his lungs, found himself in the arms of Paragon. The hero had caught him mid-air and, carrying him like a baby, he rose upward once again. We’re flying... we’re flying! Daniel thought as his vision went from an out-of-focus fog to one so crystal clear he could see the pores on Paragon’s chin. A moment later they were landing, and the hero was putting him gently down on the roof of the building.
“Are you all right?” Paragon asked him.
Daniel could only nod. He was surprised he could do that much.
Paragon reached over him and grabbed the knob of a door. There was a rattle, then a metallic crunch, and the hero wrenched open what must have been a locked door. “Can you make it down on your own?” Paragon asked.
“I... I’ll try,” Daniel managed after drawing in a gasp of air.
Paragon nodded. “I have to go.”
“S-sure,” Daniel stammered, and watched as the hero lifted up into the air. Daniel’s eyes followed Paragon until he dropped from sight, surely returning to the fight. My God, he thought. He caught me! He saved my life twice.
Things became a blur after that. Somehow he’d made his way down the thirty-some floors—he didn’t dare use the elevators. “In case of fire, use stairs” had gained a whole new meaning for Daniel. Who knew what damage the combatants were doing to the building? All he needed to do was find himself in a freefalling elevator. Paragon had already saved him two times; Daniel wasn’t going to hedge his bets on a third.
Daniel got to the parking garage only to find that it had been cordoned off, and the police weren’t allowing anyone to use their cars. The streets were full of wreckage from the battle and while the fight seemed to be over, the cops weren’t taking any chances.
Daniel made his way to a bar several blocks away on legs so tired and cramped from his ordeal he didn’t know how he got there. He called his best friend, John, who lived in his apartment building, and then somehow he was in a tub full of bubbles with a large cocktail in his hand.
Thank God for John. He always knew what to do.
“Did you know that one side of your face is red? Looks like a sunburn.”
“Really?” Daniel asked, and touched his face. How had he not noticed that? “It must have been when Tyrant nearly incinerated me. He would have too, if it hadn’t been for Paragon.”
“I still can’t believe it,” John said. He’d turned the lights off in the bathroom and lit some candles. “Paragon saved your life.”
Daniel nodded and sipped at his drink, almost wincing at the alcohol content.
“Rum and rum and rum and Coke,” John clarified.
“I wet my pants,” Daniel said. “I met my hero and I pissed my pants.”
“I’m sure that happens all the time.” John waved his hand dismissively. “Just be glad you didn’t shit them.”
Daniel surprised himself by laughing.
“You always say the right thing,” Daniel said and took a heroic slug of his drink.
SIX months later Daniel found himself at the foot of an entirely different building in a different city altogether. He was on Manhattan Island, looking up at the silver-blue tower that was the headquarters to Super Heroes, Inc.
“This is it!” he said aloud, and, with a childlike grin on his face, made his way inside. The lobby was huge, all chrome and mirrors, with tall trees and dozens of monitors showing the exploits of the superhero team. Daniel watched for only a moment and then turned to see twelve huge banners hanging from the ceiling, each depicting a member of Super Heroes, Inc. The first was Constellation, of course, their leader, in his blue costume with the bright yellow star on the chest. Then Kosmos, Epitome, PsyBorg, Gorilla—all of them—and at the far end, Paragon. Daniel felt his heart speed up at the sight of the man who had saved his life. He took a deep breath and made his way to the information desk at the middle of the room. A pretty blonde woman sat there, all pleasant smiles.
“Hi,” he said. Great one, he thought. She’ll think you’re a genius.
“Welcome to Super Heroes, Incorporated,” she replied. “May I help you?”
“I’m here to see Paragon,” he answered.
Her head tilted to the side and without losing so
much as a millimeter of her smile, she said, “Do you have an appointment?”
“I....” Daniel stopped. Appointment? “Ah, no, I’m sorry, I don’t.”
“Then I’m afraid that will be impossible,” she said, a note of sadness taking her voice. “Our heroes are very busy you know, saving the world and such.”
Daniel felt as if his heart had crashed down through the floor. Appointment. Why hadn’t he realized he couldn’t just waltz into the headquarters of the world’s most famous super team and ask to speak to a superhero? How stupid was he?
And hadn’t John warned him about that?
“You don’t understand,” he said. “Paragon saved my life.”
Unbelievably, the woman’s sunny disposition jumped up to nova intensity. “How wonderful!”
“I wanted to thank him,” Daniel said. “I have something for him.” Daniel raised a brightly wrapped package.
“How wonderful,” the woman repeated. “If you want to leave it, I’ll be happy to see he gets it. You could even leave a note!”
Daniel’s disappointment intensified. See that he got it? No! He had to give Paragon the gift himself. Maybe take him to dinner. He’d dreamed about it, him sitting there at a table in a restaurant, Paragon sitting across from him, people staring with envy. There was so much he wanted to say. He couldn’t leave here without meeting his hero, this time under sane conditions. He wanted to show the man his scrapbook. Scrapbook. That was it!
“Look,” he cried, and pulling a large book from his bag, placed it in front of the woman. He opened it and started leafing through it. “I wanted him to see this.”
“Oh,” she cooed. “This is a nice one. Out of all the ones I’ve seen, this is one of the best.”
All the ones she’d seen?
Well of course. Had he really thought he’d be the only one? He swallowed and steeled himself for a fight. “Well, have you seen this?” he exclaimed and went to the end of the book. There in full color was a series of pictures of Daniel himself, up in the sky. The first with him falling, and in the next couple snapshots, of Paragon actually catching him and flying him to safety. He’d been thrilled beyond words when he’d seen the photographs in the newspaper and online (and very happy the pictures didn’t show that he’d peed himself).
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